


the devil tips his hat to me

by thefudge



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Banter, Dark Comedy, F/M, Tongue-in-cheek, hades and persephone on crack, hell shenanigans, ost: also that ragamuffin song from the witcher score, ost: voltaire - when you're evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: 5x15 AU. Katherine refuses to get dragged to hell. So she gives them Bonnie instead.
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Malachai "Kai" Parker
Comments: 13
Kudos: 95





	the devil tips his hat to me

**Author's Note:**

> my brain: you already have so many WIPs!  
> me: and what about it?

it's so easy when you're evil  
this is the life, you see  
the devil tips his hat to me

i. 

The church is eerily silent as the two women face each other. The candles gutter and spark, like a multitude of eyes blinking, watching them.

Bonnie feels a lick of sympathy for the woman in front of her. Katherine Pierce may be devious and downright diabolical, but there is something painfully human and grasping about the doppelganger. More than anyone she’s ever met, Katherine wants to _live_. She loves life the way a mother loves a child, the way a lover dotes on his beloved, the way the sun cherishes its field of flowers. Bonnie does not know why these fulsome images crowd her mind. Instead of finality, she feels continuity. As if there might be more to Katherine’s story.

Indeed, when the vampire grips her shoulders, claiming she is ready to pass through, Bonnie braces herself for the usual spike of pain, but…nothing happens. 

And nothing _continues_ to happen as Katherine digs her nails into her flesh. “ _Bonnie_. What are you doing? Let me pass through. Why won’t you let me pass through?”

Bonnie’s throat dries up. This has never happened before. “I don’t _know_. I don’t control it. I’m trying to…”

“What?” Katherine snarls.

“I’m trying to help you pass. It’s not up to me,” Bonnie explains.

“Then _who_ is it up to?”

As if in answer, the air stirs around them, a whisper becoming a gentle breeze, wafting through their hair and clothes. Bonnie shudders. The wind is like laughter against her throat. Soon, the wind becomes a gale, growing in power as it blows through the pews, making the alms and prayer books fly high above their heads. All the candles go out at once.

Katherine feels it first. The pull.

Something is pulling her away from Bonnie and towards the end of the pews where there are no church doors, only gaping darkness awaiting her.

This is it, she realizes. No more second chances.

She locks her jaw. The will to survive trumps everything else.

“ _No_. They can’t have me. Not like this.”

And with the remainder of her powers, she pivots on her feet and hurls Bonnie towards the darkness. _Take her instead._

The fingers of death do not discriminate. In fact, they seem to relish the opportunity.

Bonnie slips from Katherine’s grasp and lands on the floor with a thud. Before she can gather her bearings, she feels a tug. Her legs slide downwards against the wood. She is being dragged towards the dark.

Bonnie scrambles to get up, nails scratching floorboards, but she cannot find purchase anywhere. The harder she tries, the faster she slides towards the abyss.

Katherine stares her down, clutching a pew for support. She gives a simple shrug, the scorpion telling the frog _, no hard feelings_.

“Sorry, Bon. Better you than me.”

Before Bonnie is dragged to hell, she has time to curse herself for ever feeling sorry for Katherine Pierce.

* * *

The dark is warm. It’s almost like a blanket, thick against her skin.

It’s a pulsing membrane too. It lives.

She can almost hear a heartbeat – no, _several_ heartbeats, knocking against ribcages, trying to get out. It’s as if she were hearing death, multiplied, manifold.

She’s trapped in the bowels of the world. But she slides down…down…further down…down into the womb…until she’s spat out on frigid white stone.

This she did not expect.

The white hurts her eyes.

Her whole body aches, but nothing seems to be broken. She’s alive. Or as alive as she’s ever been.

Bonnie raises her head.

All around her there is a latticework of stairs and overpasses carved from milky stone, going up and down, like a giant formicary. In-between there is only adamantine darkness that looks almost solid. She does not want to test its density.

Behind her, Bonnie eyes a pair of white doors, adorned with black bolts and strange, unpleasant symbols, like foul smears or ugly graffiti. Beyond these doors, she can hear a kind of papery rumbling, reminiscent of office buildings.

Before she can give more thought to it she hears a dreadful plopping sound behind her, like egg yolk sliding into a bowl. And sure enough, someone else has been spat onto the white stone, which she now realizes is a bridge. Bonnie almost expects it to be Katherine. But no. The old man before her has probably never heard of magic or doppelgangers. He looks quite ordinary, if a little cantankerous. He’s dressed in a very good tweed suit and clutches a small briefcase bulging with papers.

“Excuse me,” he tells her, “what sort of place is this?”

Bonnie rises to her feet. There’s a small tremor in her knees. “Um, I’m not sure. I just got here.”

“Hmm,” he frowns, looking around him. “I always thought heaven would look less…gnomic.”

The idea of heaven makes Bonnie start.

No, Katherine wasn’t going to heaven. In fact, this must be –

The doors slowly part with a terribly soft screech, like a needle being pressed inside her eardrum.

Bonnie wishes there was something to hold onto, but as always, there’s only herself.

Two cowled figures emerge through the small crack. Their faces are slightly shadowed, but they look very young. Not much older than seven perhaps. Children.

Except…no, not quite. There is something age-ridden in the softness of their cheeks. As if the blood underneath has turned to ash. A clever self-awareness shines in their eyes, a film of another life, of many, many lives.

Bonnie shudders.

“Who’s next?” they ask in unison, their voices like nursery rhymes, sing-song, yet lacking in music.

The old man moves quickly, pushing her aside.

“I believe that would be me,” he mutters, dragging his suitcase.

Bonnie is almost relieved to watch him go. She wonders what will happen to him. Maybe if someone else falls through the abyss and lands on the bridge, they can go next and Bonnie can just stand here forever and avoid the inevitable.

_Yeah, right._

When has she ever been spared?

The doors close with finality on the old man and the two eerie children and Bonnie takes a few steps back.

Maybe if she runs in the opposite direction – but _is_ there a direction?

What sort of world is this, anyway?

She walks towards one of the staircases. She places her foot tentatively on the first step. It does not melt or catch fire or any number of gruesome things. She takes another step, and another. She climbs up steadily through the dark. That’s what she’s always done, even when the cause looked hopeless. 

After what feels like ages, she reaches a separate landing where a wide overpass is strung up with what looks like barbed wire. It reminds her of queue lines at the cinema. She goes around them gingerly, realizing that they’re not really barbed wire, but rather odd-shaped black ferns rising from the stone. In the middle of this ugly garden she finds a red, round thing. A ball wrapped in red satin. Bonnie bends down and picks it up. It’s quite heavy, all things considered. Its insides make a strange ticking noise, like a hidden mechanism. She should put it back.

But it’s too late.

She hears the children’s voices right in her ear.

“Who’s next?”

The overpass tilts and slopes like a toboggan and Bonnie covers her face as she slides down smooth stone and is caught by tiny hands and thrown through the white doors. 

* * *

She lands on her knees again.

It’s not exactly comfortable.

Bonnie looks up.

She wasn’t wrong about office buildings. The cavernous hall is filled from floor to roof with file cabinets, and an army of cowled figures are sorting through them and shredding the paper.

Only, it’s not paper. It stinks with a distinct putrid-sweet smell.

It’s skin.

Bonnie stands up. She’s pushed from behind by the mysterious sentinels. But there are people here who aren’t hooded. She spies them, ashen-looking creatures of indeterminate age (definitely not children) who lounge naked against seats carved in the stone, who can’t seem to move from their seats. Wings flap above their heads. Black birds swoop down and pick at their livers.

Bonnie looks away quickly. The image is horribly familiar, like something out of a book. Wasn’t there a mythical hero who was punished in a similar fashion?

She doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

In front of her is a stony throne ringed with a crown of polished stalactites which seem to blink at her. Yes, they’re – they’re filled with eyeballs.

Bonnie inhales sharply. Hell certainly does not disappoint.

But what’s more puzzling is the figure sitting on the throne.

So far, the hellish imagery has been rather apt. But the boy – or is he a man? she can’t be sure – wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt and green cargo shorts looks like no devil she has ever imagined before. He reminds her of one of Jeremy’s friends or one of those edgy-looking freshmen who are the proud owners of a rich collection of hentai and still have an active MySpace account.

He sits with his feet propped up and his head upside down, playfully reaching out to poke his eye with the sharp end of the stalactite.

“Well, well, well…” he drawls. “If it isn’t the great Katherine Pierce. Your reputation precedes you down here. We’ve all heard how much –”

The boy turns his head to look down at Bonnie.

“- you suck,” he punctuates. And frowns.

He sits up too fast and his Hawaiian shirt pops a button. “Wait a minute. You’re not Katherine.”

Bonnie brushes her knees and tries to look a little more dignified. “Definitely not.”

He surveys her intently, brows furrowed. “Huh. I could’ve sworn she was next. You don’t look particularly evil.”

“I – I don’t think I am.”

He smiles lazily and picks up a clipboard lodged between two rocks. “The worst never think they are. So, what sort of terrible deeds have you been up to…Miss...uhhh...”

He checks the list of names.

“Bonnie,” she supplies. “Bonnie Bennett.”

He frowns again.

“Funny. Your name doesn’t show up here. Hey, Dumb and Dumber,” he calls to the children in cowls. “Did you give me the wrong list?”

His minions shrug helplessly.

“I don’t think I’m on the list,” Bonnie speaks quickly. “Katherine Pierce basically threw me into the pit in her place.”

The demon-boy raises both eyebrows. “ _Wow,_ that’s cold, even for her.”

“Yeah,” Bonnie agrees none too happily. “I think I was taken in her place.”

A swarm of whispers fills the large hall behind her. The half-dead creatures stir and moan. The children flit back and forth, exchanging feverish words. Black birds fly above her head in circles. This is probably not good.

Bonnie clears her throat. “So, there's been…some kind of mix-up.”

The demon boy watches the commotion around them with brightened eyes. His mouth curls into a not very friendly grin. In fact, the more she looks at him the less she likes him. Not that there’s anything to like, in particular.

He claps his hands suddenly and the hall booms with the sound. “Holy _shit_. I think this is the first time we’ve had a stray.”

He rises from his seat and skips down the slippery steps.

Bonnie draws back.

“Ohhh, look at you, so pure of heart, stuck in this den of iniquity by accident,” he drawls gleefully, circling her like a morsel of tantalizing game. "You must be feeling so lost."

As he moves, the dark seems to move with him and his grin materializes before he does.

 _Cheshire cat_ , she thinks as she takes another step back. This might as well be a demented version of Wonderland.

“Well, if you show me the exit, I can be on my way,” she quips, trying to look unfazed.

The boy laughs, craning his neck. His flesh looks like it could dissolve into smoke. “You’re so _cute_. Isn't she cute, you guys?" he asks the little urchins who cower before him. They all nod aggressively.

"I could just eat you up," he says, tapping her nose playfully. "Oh, and what’s that you have behind your back?”

Before she can react, he’s caught her wrist and released the small red sphere she was holding. Bonnie feels a weird current of electricity run down her arm.

“So that’s where it was! I’ve been looking for it all day,” he says with a wink, throwing the ball in the air and catching it seamlessly. “Thanks a lot.” And then he launches it towards one of the walls.

She hadn’t noticed it before. There’s a body trussed up against the rocks. It’s the old man from before, the one who was eager to get ahead.

The heavy ball hits his skull with a gruesome force. Blood and brains spatter on the milky stone.

Bonnie swallows a shriek. She lifts a hand to her mouth in horror.

When the ball draws back, his head is made whole, as if by magic. Only to be caved in again when the demon boy launches the ball at him. Back and forth, brains and gore and a smooth pate of head and then more brains and gore and ruin. The old man cries out for mercy.

“Stop it,” Bonnie whispers.

“Oh, he’s not really having such a bad time. Imagine if his head stayed that way,” the boy snickers and throws the ball again.

“Please stop.”

“Oh, do you wanna try?”

Bonnie shakes her head. She wants to heave. She wants to get out of here. And she wants to wipe that smirk off his stupid face. Her wrist flicks and she summons one of the sharp spears of stalactite and – Bonnie gasps – _stabs_ him in the chest.

Okay, she hadn’t meant for that to happen.

The hall goes silent. The boy drops the bloody ball at his feet and looks down at himself where a sharp stick juts out of his shirt. More buttons have popped. 

“Hey, this is my favorite shirt.”

Bonnie swallows. “Um – it was an accident?”

“I mean, it looks like you were trying to kill me,” he says rather pointedly, but he doesn’t look upset. In fact, he moves closer to her and…starts sniffing the air around her. He takes hold of her arm, and like before, she feels a horrible frisson under the flesh.

Bonnie tries to yank herself free, but his hold is dauntingly strong. And his eyes are totally focused on her. He looks as if he’s just won the prize at the fair.

“Ohhh, I see. I couldn’t smell you before over the pestilence. We don’t really have good ventilation here,” he explains. “But you’re a _witch_. Servant of the earth and all that jazz. We don't get a lot of your kind down here. Must be because you're so well-behaved." 

The stalactite spear is still lodged in his chest. It now pokes her jacket. Bonnie moves the spear tip away from her. “Yeah…that’s me. Very well-behaved. That’s why I need to get back to…serving the earth.” And she points up above their heads to what she hopes is a way out of this place.

“Oh sure,” he beams. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Bonnie perks up imperceptibly. “’You will?”

And the insufferable demon boy pokes her again with the sharp end. “Well, not _us_ exactly. But that’s the exciting part. Someone from _upstairs_ will have to come down and get you. Isn’t that _great_?”

The wild glimmer in his eyes makes her uneasy. Why is he so happy about that?

“I guess in the meantime I can’t torture you too bad, huh?” he teases, running his finger down her arm. “Since you’re not staying for long.”

Bonnie smiles nervously. She doesn’t trust a single word out of his mouth. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Hmmm, but how will you occupy your time here otherwise? Oh, I know!” He plucks out the offending spear from his chest and launches it at the old man’s skull in one fluid motion. It pierces his left eye. This time, the head does not grow whole. “I’ll give you a grand tour! I don’t get to do that too often. What do you say, Bon?”

Bonnie grits her teeth. Her stomach roils at the violent spectacle, but she has seen enough blood in her lifetime, hasn’t she? Only, she never really got used to it.

She also doesn’t like that he has already taken liberties with her name, but Bonnie isn’t in a position to refuse. She smiles again. “Sure. Sounds…great.”

“Great! Tomorrow morning, first thing!” he says excitedly, skipping the stones back to his throne. “Hey, Teletubbies, take our special guest to my quarters, will you?”

Bonnie can spy from the corner of her eye more children-sentries coming to fetch her. She doesn’t like the sound of “my quarters” either.

“Who are you, by the way?” she asks before they can take her away.

The demon boy turns around with a flourish. “Oh, shoot. Didn’t I say? I’m the King of Hell, _obviously_. But down here I’m known as Malachai.”

Bonnie mouths the name slowly. It sounds Biblical enough. And yet – there’s still something not entirely believable about him.

Malachai settles back in his seat, red ball in hand. He throws the ball in the air, but it seems to take forever for it to fall back in his hand.

"Sweet dreams, Bonnie."

Time slows down and her eyelids droop as she’s dragged through the white doors.

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is a wild and ridiculous and extremely self-indulgent escapade. i'm not sure about the quality of writing, but listen, i'm enjoying the premise too much. their dynamic here is slightly reminiscent of peter/catherine from the great, but i'm hoping to put my own spin on it. anyway, more hell adventures to come!


End file.
